


this isn't goodbye

by megamegaturtle



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Character Death, pretty angst, your lie in april au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7071838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megamegaturtle/pseuds/megamegaturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two gods made a boy and a girl superheros. Then one of them dies. </p><p>A Your Lie in April AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. monochrome no longer

**Author's Note:**

> Whooo! Welcome to the angst train! 
> 
> Your Lie in April is a favorite of mine and I'm excited for this AU. And if you think you know how this story will end, you don't :) lol

His world is grey, shaded with blacks and whites just like the piano keys he plays. There is a melody he knows, sung as notes ring in the air, but he has long forgotten the sound. It’s like he’s under water, breath burning in his lungs as sound waves slow down and disperse–never to be heard, never to exist. 

_Just like mother._

He’s drowning in grey, in grief as the piano seat next to him remains empty. There is no warm hand on his shoulder or loving praise whispered in his ear. There is no one beside him to chide him for slamming his fingers on the piano keys, hoping to hear something, hoping to stop the ice that’s speedily freezing his heart, his soul. 

All that remains is Adrien as he practices his piano like he’s supposed to every Tuesday afternoon, buried under an ice cap, drowning in grey and sinking into darkness. And the ruckus that he makes echoes through the house, biting each and every person as he cries out and slams the keys with all his might. 

The tears don’t pool and make a new person. 

And his cries don’t invite someone to check on him.

_I’ll be good this time–just come back!_

* * *

His world is grey, organized and controlled as he moves between his lessons and photo shoots. His father is grey too, shaded with rich black at the edges, and smile so white it reminds him of death. 

Adrien hasn’t played the piano in three months, unable to hear the sounds beyond his grief. 

* * *

The world is only brighter when Chloe shoves her way back into his life, the pink of her lips and the blue of her eyes almost peeking through the monochrome landscape. 

They don’t, but they almost. 

“Just come to school with me this year,” she says quietly as she leans against his bedroom wall. 

Adrien can only lay there and stare the ceiling, that’s just as grey as everything else. 

“I can’t,” he start, his voice tired, his soul tired. “Father…”

Though he can’t hear the sounds of the piano, he can definitely hear and _feel_  Chloe’s stomps as she comes over to him and stands over him, grabbing a fistful of shirt and hoisting him in the hair. 

There’s a flicker and he can kinda see the platinum blonde of her hair. 

“I’m tired of this,” she growls. “I’m sick of seeing you like this.” 

She lets go his shirt and he thuds to the ground. “Grow up, Adrien.” 

And for the first time in forever, he’s seeing red, sparking like a fire as he glares at her propped up on his elbows. “You don’t know–” he starts to yell, slick black venom rolling off his tongue–

–but she kicks him, the tip of her shoe digging into his ribs. “You better take that back, Adri,” and this time she does spit and it’s fire and it’s icy and he’s being burnt alive. 

All Adrien can do is curl onto his side, gasping as a bruise blooms on his skin. He can’t even look at her, his mouth pressed in firm flat line. 

“I don’t have my mother either…” she whispers harsh, biting.

And ice is dumped all over him, freezing and cooling and steaming as the heat of his anger melts it away. 

“I–I–” he fumbles, but nothing else comes out. 

_I’m sorry._

_I forgot._

The seconds pass, long seconds before Chloe picks up her handbag and makes her way to the door. Footsteps halt as she places her hand on the knob. 

“Just come to school this year, okay?” 

“…yeah, okay.” 

* * *

His world is grey, but it’s moving and Adrien counts that as a blessing. He’s moving through the grey, through the sludge and refuses to get stuck. He doesn’t play the piano, can’t even still as the shiny black wood gathers dust, but he’s moving.

He’s living and that in itself is worth as much any song. 

* * *

His is world is grey and a little box sits on his bedroom coffee table. 

It’s a white box, glistening and for the first time, it doesn’t remind him of death, but birth. 

His world is grey and white is peeking through, a slip of something when curiosity tickles the back of his mind. 

 _I just have to try_. 

* * *

And then–his world explodes with color. 

With green, with black, with blue, with red and he can’t breathe. He’s flying, his soaring, his fingers are almost at the sun and his world is filled with _colors._

_Her eyes, her smile–the stars and the sky molded into one._

_Me, myself, this power surging in my veins_. 

Chat Noir laughs as he launches himself off the roof of one building onto the next, all of Paris painted with purples, pinks, and oranges. Bright red shines before him and he has to follow as she smiles over shoulder, blue eyes crinkled. 

“Hurry up, aren’t you coming?” 

His world is being saturated with rose, sky blue, and silver. 

“Wait up, my lady!” 

* * *

Adrien still can’t touch the piano, but he finally notices the indigo hue of the wood as his fingers brush away the dust. 

His heart still aches when there is no hug to greet him at home. 

But sometimes, if he’s lucky, he can hear a violin being played if lingers a little bit longer after school. Long hums of the strings dance through the air, low notes gasping for air and it makes his heart bleed. 

And then–and then–it picks up speed and screams and shouts and all Adrien can see is the world flashing before his very eyes, filled with bright colors, with pinks, with blues, with reds as it sinks into his skin. 

And on that day, when the madness sings through the building Adrien finally finds courage to go searching. After all, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. So, he looks and he climbs and holds his breath when he pauses before the music room. 

He pushes it open as quietly as he can–like as if the world can’t hear the same notes he can–and all he can see is red.

 _Red like my love, red like you, red like us._  

But then he blinks, his vision clearing to leave Marinette, tears in her eyes and sweat at her brows as she fiddles out the last note. 

In that moment, when she looks up and sees him staring, all he can see is blue.

His world is filled with color, with greens, with blues, with reds, and everything in between. 

Yet in this moment, his heart thuds in his chest, his soul going haywire, he wonders exactly what it all means. 


	2. please keep all hands safely in the ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette's world is yellow, it's purple, it's--

Marinette’s world is yellow, nerves fraying at the ends as each corner she turns flashes with bright hazard signs. _Don’t mess up_ , it tells her, written in neon and blinding. _Don’t mess up, you failure_. Fear creeps up and chokes her–her lungs working just fine, but the noose around her neck says otherwise.

There are purple impressions, poisoned anxiety leaving marks on her skin, bruising the yellow in their wake. It sinks into her soul and bites down hard until it almost snaps in two. Purple like death, like hatred, like doubt. 

Her world is yellow, her world is purple–the polarity of day versus night pulling her apart until all that remains is a broken marionette.

* * *

Her world is yellow, purple too as she walks up to school to start a new year with fear stomping her heart as it beats in her chest.

Then everything turns purple, turns dark, as she falls and tumbles and messes up once again.

* * *

There’s a little black box, starling black in a world filled with yellow and Marinette wants to run away so badly because–new things only hurt when she’s not careful.

She’s never careful. 

But when she opens it and sees two polished earrings gleaming, gemstones unlike any other, her soul pushes her hand forward until she grabs them. 

There’s a sigh of relief when the world doesn’t end.

* * *

And then–and then–her world becomes red, becomes black and there is a confidence that seems out of place as she leaps for the first time and tries to fly on her own.

She crashes into green, into gold and everything about her seems to readjust. 

Later that day when the world is going wrong and all she’s seeing is orange because Alya is orange and orange would make a better Ladybug than yellow–

–she’s grounded when she stares up into green eyes, the pressure on her upper arms reassuring and his soul is touching hers saying _trust me_. 

So she does and she flies, red trailing behind her every step and the world explodes with color. 

* * *

The world is blue for a moment, blue and green and peacefully grey as a boy she hated and made her see red hands her umbrella and her heart _thumps, thumps, thumps_ instead.

 _My heart is now yours, you know_. 

That’s what her heart says when green eyes and blond hair are whisked away and all she’s left with is wobbly knees and soft pitter-patter of rain.

* * *

Her world is red and sweet as Tikki snuggles close to her to tell her stories from ancient days past.

Her world is silver and bright as her mother praises the new blouse she made.

Her world is orange and warm as Alya hugs her tight, dragging her to confess all secrets of the heart. 

Marinette’s world is gorgeous and full of color and she’s never been happier.  

* * *

There are pinks in the sunsets as she and Chat Noir trapeze over Paris. Blues fade into purple and soon deep indigo as it becomes night and she smiles, her heart feeling full and her soul feeling light.

 _The world is beautiful, the world is mine_ , she thinks, invisible wings jutting from her back as she takes her final leap. Her face is facing the stars and the moon and she’s walking on air, once, twice, thrice before landing on her balcony. 

 _The world is mine_ , she thinks again, the world washing with pink as she releases her transformation. 

Blue eyes blink, happy and content as the sun starts to descend and Tikki rests on top her head. _The world is perfect, the world is_ –

Red, the world is red because that’s all she can see as she doubles over and red stains her terrace.

* * *

Her world is white, bare as she lays there in the hospital late at night as the doctors speak to her parents. 

 _We’re not sure as to why_ , one starts, their voice muffled through the door.

She can hear mother sob and she can see her father’s stern face. 

Beside her, Tikki flies slowly and rests on her chest. In the darkness she whispers, “Marinette,” her voice trembles. “There’s something I need to tell you.” 

So she listens, her world turning yellow, purple painting her skin, and red dying her lips. 

“ _No.”_

Tikki whines and nuzzles under chin. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I’m–” the little god stutters. “I’m trying my best.” 

Marinette screws her eyes shut, but the yellow remains, bright and burning as she tugs her a little closer. 

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

 _We have to figure it out_. 

* * *

Marinette doesn’t go to school that week, buried in white and shackled in grey.

Ladybug doesn’t go to patrol that week either, her predicament much the same. 

* * *

Before fashion, before yellow, before purple, Marinette had one thing and that was her violin. A brown little thing that’s secondhand. But all she has is nerves burning out with every step and more than enough energy surging through her that she just has to do something. 

“Play something for me, Marinette,” Tikki asks the day they find it, hidden in her closet behind old, old clothes.   

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Anything for you, Tikki,” she tells the little god, her words soaked with truth as she starts to tune it. 

And she plays. 

She plays the song of her heart, of pain, of anger, of joy that’s been stomping on her rib-cage for weeks with no reprieve. 

She plays with every moment sent in pray of somehow knowing the magic spell to make everything better. Just even the tune to erase the unease that rests in her stomach. Anything to wash the taste of iron from her mouth. 

Tikki watches the madness, the rage, the–the—everything caught in this moment that Marinette decided to not be caught with strings that hoist her up and pull her in every direction. 

Her violin stabs the world just as the world and her body and her life and her circumstances tried to stab her. 

* * *

Sweat is slick at Marinette’s brow as she tries to catch her breath, the sharp notes still ringing in her ears as she goes to wipe her eye. 

“I guess I played too hard,” she mumbles, an absentminded comment, but all thoughts die when she looks up and sees–

Adrien Agreste, perfection personified, standing there with shock rendering him speechless at her display. 

A part of her wants to hide, wants to see yellow, but the larger part of her, the bigger part of her is tired and greets him instead. 

“Can I help you, Adrien?” she asks, her voice trying to be soft, but it’s rough around the edges. 

He blinks, green eyes fluttering for a moment, when he finally speaks. “I didn’t know you played.” 

 _You don’t know a lot about me_ , she wants to say, but she doesn’t. Instead, she opens. “I play when I’m stressed.” 

Floating behind him, Tikki peers behind a bookcase and gives Marinette an encouraging smile and Marinette can never say no to Tikki smiles. 

Picking up her bow and placing her violin back on her shoulder, she tries to make her world fill the brim with red because Ladybug always knows what to do. “Any requests?” she asks, a smile tugging at her lips. 

Adrien enters the classroom and shuts the door behind him, thinking for a moment before he answers. “Play me a love song?” he asks, not tells, but ask. 

There’s an understood please in there somewhere and it makes her heart twist and ache and she just wishes she knew what words to say. 

But with Adrien her world has always been yellow, been purple and she’s tired of continuing to see either. 

Taking a deep breath, she pulls out as much red as possible, stretching it out until it’s pink and lets her bow sing the love song she desperately wants to tell him. 

Gentle knowing hums fill the air, yellow and purple finally becoming soft as pink mixes with them and rains down like cherry blossoms. She doesn’t dare look at him, her heart too mixed up, but she plays. 

She plays because she has to, she plays because she can, she plays because not playing means crying and right now, this is all she has. 

 _I’m sorry, but I’m–_ she doesn’t finish the thought. 

Instead, as her world swirls melancholy and sweet, she whispers for only gods to hear her. 

“I love you. Please let that be enough.”

_Unlike me–for time’s running out and I don’t know what to do._


	3. don't pull the loose thread on your sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Adrien's slowly colorful world falters, but Ladybug is there to help him find the way again.

A dull gray casts over Paris today, the clouds above looking sickly and the world naturally devoid of colors. 

But not to Chat Noir as he speeds to catch up his Lady. He must be getting stronger because with using long jumps he’s already at her side, a stupid smile tugging at his face when he’s there. 

She breathlessly laughs, her face looking flushed and pink. “Look at you, catching up so easily.” 

Together, they ease their sprinting gaits and look over Paris side by side. Wind blows and pushes their hair out of their faces and when Chat glimpses over, Ladybug glimpses so wistful and fragile.

Gently, he bumps into her shoulder. “What’s up, bugaboo?” 

Blue eyes like the sky, like limitless possibilities stare up at him, and she gives a tired smile. “I was just thinking,” she starts, her voice quieter, as if telling a secret. “That one day this is all going to end.” 

The finger that wears his ring throbs, it telling Ladybug herself that he never wants this to end, to stop. 

For freedom is literally at his fingertips. It’s the way Adrien uses Chat Noir to run wild and free, to feel, to see color, to live. It’s the way he can love without regret, fall aimlessly in love without repercussion and never want anything back. It’s---

“--something I don’t want to end yet,” he tells her honestly, panic sweeping over him. 

Because he’s seen endings before, of when things end and move no longer. 

He’s seen the way life stops and doesn’t move forward and never picks up again — and — and---

 _Mother_.

But Ladybug chuckles and grabs his hand with her, clasping them together in the solidarity that is their friendship. “Well, we won’t let it end just yet.” 

His fingers enclose her hand maybe a bit tighter than he should have, but Ladybug doesn’t say anything at all as Paris lives before them. 

* * *

 

The world spins on, keeps living when you’ve stopped, and Adrien reminds himself of that when he gets ready for school. 

It’s hard though, when gray is growing stronger and drowning out all color and he stumbles while trying to find a seat. 

“Aw, kid,” Plagg says, zips to sit on top his head. “It’s OK,” the little god tells him while kneading in his hair. “You’re here, I’m here and that’s good enough.” 

A shudder passes through him, but he nods. “Yeah, we’re good enough.” 

Lovingly, Plagg pets his head a few more times in a way that makes Adrien want to to cry, but he doesn’t. Instead, he thanks the moment. 

At his door, Natalie knocks and tells him that he has to go school. 

“C’mon, shoes on with you, you loser,” the little god chides. “Can’t be nice to you all the time or you’ll think I have a heart.” 

Adrien shakes his hid, a laugh building in his stomach. “Or something.” 

The world is brighter though. Less gray, more livable. 

* * *

 

It’s a surprise when Mme. Bustier asks him to stay after class. She asks Marinette too and here they are, together waiting for her to return from the main office.

Despite that Adrien sits in front of her everyday, he and Marinette haven’t spoken much since he came across her in the music room a few weeks ago, the moment seared in his mind as an alternate reality.

In his world of gray, she is outlined in pink and her blue eyes peek through.

That’s enough for him when he gives her a gentle smile, trying to find words to say, to fill the silence between them. But he can’t as she shuffles from foot to foot, so unlike the girl he saw playing so vivaciously weeks ago, sweat at her brow and the violin creating a world from her fingertips.

“So,” she starts, the vowel dragged out with thought.

But she doesn’t get to finish, her failed attempt of conversation stuffed back in her mouth when their teach arrives, a spring in her step and papers in her arms.

“Ah good. You two are still here.”

Adrien braves forth for them. “What do you need, ma’am?”

Mme. Bustier grins, her smile white like her shirt and Adrien doesn’t compare it with death.

Not like Father’s smile. No like Father’s.

She hands them each a piece of paper, cheer colored yellow in her voice. “I’ve entered the two of you in a music competition.”

His world stops, his heart falling to his feet, and the gray becoming snow as everything glimpses bleak.

“ ... what?” he says, but Marinette shouts over him, her voice in panic.

“Why?!”

Red brows crease together, confusion clear as Mme. Bustier continues. “Because Marinette, you’re fantastic on the violin,” she states as she turns. “And you Adrien play a fine piano.”

Marinette’s voice shakes, her eyes glancing at Adrien for a second. “Ma’am, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He tries not to take it personally, but he and Marinette have always had an unusual ... acquaintanceship. Always rocking between becoming great friends and going back to square one. 

“Nonsense!” his teacher says. “You two need the extra credit!” 

Reluctantly, for different reasons it seems, they both agree.

* * *

 

A few weeks ago, Adrien was finally able to notice the indigo hue of the piano’s wood, but now? Now the world is monochrome as his heart races in his chest and everything spins out of control. 

Walking up the stairs to the music room with Marinette quiet at his side feels much like a walking to one’s execution, the end near and you’re unable to stop it. 

Marinette steps forward, her pink outline gone from view, her hand resting on the doorknob. “This is going to be fine,” she says. 

He can’t tell if she means that to herself or for both of them, but he can’t help but bitterly laugh. 

“Yeah, sure,” rolls off his tongue. “One, I can’t even play and two, it’s with a girl who can’t stand me.” 

(In his shirt pocket, Plagg pinches him.)

_Adrien, don’t slam on the keys, darling. Be gentle with them as if they were a baby._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn’t be taking this out on her, but he can’t help it. He can’t play and he’s all mixed up inside. Dark black lines are filling up his vision, shadows growing bigger as his chest feels tight. 

He ignores it however as he brushes past her and throws his book bag on the ground. He can feel his lips pressed together in a firm line, much like his father’s and that makes his stomach twist even more. 

Letting out an annoyed sigh, trying to push out his irritation, he turns around, expiration in his voice. “Aren’t we going--”

But the demand dies on his lips because Marinette is frozen in place at the doorway, her chin quivering and life kicks him in the chest and he can see everything. 

The way her the pink of her lips of frowning, the red in her cheeks spreading, and the glassy film of her blue eyes tearing up as she blinks rapidly. 

All his anger and frustration bleed away, leaving him cold as she tightly grabs the strap of her purse. 

Her voice wavers, ricks and rocks. “I — I — I d-don’t hate you,” she stutters, tears rolling down her face. 

“I ... I actually really like you ...” she states, her eyes downcast, ashamed and hurt. 

Adrien has stopped breathing, letting her take all the oxygen as she takes a deep breath. “I — guess you couldn’t tell ...”

The world is full of color and his heart is hurting and his head is spinning as Marinette turns and rushes down the hall. 

Her footsteps echo as she goes down the stairs, but Adrien doesn’t go after her. 

He doesn’t know how.

“Fuck.”

_All I do is turn everything to ash._

* * *

 

Ladybug is hugging her knees when he finds her on top of the Notre Dame. Her chin rests upon them, upset and miserable as he nears. 

He feels miserable too, but it’s better to focus on someone else’s problems for once than your own. He sits next to her without saying a word and pulls her close. 

A part of him screams at him to shout, to cry on her shoulder instead, let the red of her gloved hands hold his heart and lift him up like she always does. But friendship is a two way street and despite that everything is gray, everything doesn’t revolve around him. 

“What’s up, buttercup?” he teases, a hand rubbing her arm. 

Ladybug groans, despair rolling off her in wispy black. “Everything,” she breathes. “I’m just — _so, so_ tired.”

He nods. “I know you’ve been a little spacey lately.”

He debates say that she seems fatigued, but doesn’t. He doesn’t bring up the purple under eyes or the way she seems to pale the more they head towards summer.

“ ... I have a lot of things I can’t talk about, but to top it all off, the sweetest guy I know thinks I hate him ... and I don’t ...” she trails.

“But?”

“ ... but I actually really, really like him and he thinks I hate him ... and I guess he hates me now too?” 

As a model, as an Agreste, Adrien has become really good at ignoring feelings that well up inside him when he doesn’t need them. Jealousy is one of them, envy is another. 

“He’s stupid,” he tells her because the guy has to be. “And no one could hate you. You’re wonderful.” 

The way she leans her head on his shoulder makes his heart squirm. “I just—wish I had good luck for once.”

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does. “I’m sorry, what?” 

She smacks him on his chest, annoyance rolling off her. “I’m serious! I have really terrible luck.” 

Chat Noir lays his head over hers, watching Paris live and chuckles truly for the first time in days. “I’ll give you some of mine, if you want.” 

Together, they take a breath, leaving behind problems in the past and looking forward to the future. 

It finally strikes him how similar his predicament with Marinette is to Ladybug’s, and with that, he decides to ask.

“This guy—the one who thinks you hate him—what would you want him to say to you?”

She sighs and nestles deeper into his hold. “That he doesn’t hate me and that we could be friends?” As an afterthought, she adds. “Why?” 

“Because,” he starts, looking at the pink the sunset. “There’s someone I need to apologize to.”

The way that Ladybug slides her hand to rub small affectionate circles on his back is all the courage he needs to carry him tomorrow. 


	4. let us read the score

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just. fluff. take this fluff.

It’s past two in the morning when Marinette wakes up, red spewing out of her as she doubles over into a trashcan. 

Tikki whines as she strokes the back of her charge’s head. “Marinette, maybe–”

Her mouth tastes like iron and poison and determination. “No, Tikki. I will not stop being Ladybug.”

“But–”

“No, Tikki.” 

The kwami sighs, tired herself and nestles in the crook of Marinette’s neck as the girl lays back down. The room is filled with Marinette’s shallow breathing, her pain blistering the air as she holds her stomach tighter. 

Tikki sings them both to sleep, a melody woven by silver moonbeams and a touch of healing green, praying that her magic is enough. 

(It just isn’t enough though). 

* * *

Purple and yellow cast themselves in Marinette’s skin the next morning, bags under her eyes and her skin colored sickly. She ignores it as she gets dressed, ignores it as she brushes her hair, ignores it as she goes downstairs and sees her parent’s worried expressions. 

“I’m fine,” she tells them and it’s not a lie, not per say as she sits at their breakfast nook.

“Marinette–,” her mother starts, love and worry pouring in pinks and purples from her lips. 

And though she is tired, her stomach unsettled, Marinette finds it in her to smile. She grabs her mother’s hand and presses it to her lips. “Don’t worry, mama. I’m fine.” 

It’s hard to feel sick, to feel like her world is ending when she’s surrounded by love and if anything, this teaches Marinette that she can’t give up. 

That she needs to love more, be bolder, be everything she was not before and stand taller, straighter, and demand–

–the world to kneel before her, press it’s forehead to the ground in submission because she will not stop. She won’t be stop.

_There is time and I will find a way._

* * *

School has become less stressful in the wake of everything that’s going on. It isn’t that Marinette doesn’t care, she just can’t–sweat the small stuff. 

Her mind is going a million miles per hour every second, racing to the truth, hoping that if she works hard enough, she can save everything in the end. 

Because this is who she is, at her core: Ladybug is her core, Tikki is her core, and no sickness will take that away. 

But sometimes–sometimes, she needs to hide away in the music room, people too much, Alya too much because seconds are limited and she just wants to spend them with the person who understands her most.

Tikki floats and strums the harp, giggling wildly as beautiful harmony rings out. 

Tikki’s happiness is the only light in her life right now, the only thing that makes the pain worth it when the small god smiles and dances in the air she flies in. 

And Marinette is able to breathe, to feel like she can fly to as her eyes soften as Tikki bounces from drum to drum, making ruckus in her wake. 

(She tries not to focus on the black lump that’s gotten larger on Tikki’s back, tucking those fears and worries away for another day). 

* * *

At Mme. Bustier’s request, Marinette does head back to the music room after school, Adrien’s outburst from yesterday still stings, but–but–that was yesterday and today’s today and she has to keep her eyes focused on that. 

Tikki has settled herself atop a high bookcase, munching on snacks and enjoying as Marinette tunes her violin. She’s just going through the scales, but music is music and it makes everyone happy. 

It’s only when she finishes the last note, dragging it out to hum in the classroom, does the knob twist and door opens, revealing Adrien shuffling from foot to foot. He looks nervous, his outline yellow and purple spots floating in the air and a part of Marinette feels pleased.

 _Because–well, I just didn’t deserve that_. 

A part of her laughs at herself because yesterday she was the one yellow and purple, been the one nervous and scared, but Marinette’s tired. She’s tired and life is precious and–

“So, is there something you want to play? For the duet,” she offers, willing to ignore yesterday.

“Marinette–” he starts, stepping forward.

She turns around, pretending she doesn’t hear the smallness of his voice, “Because I was thinking we could play–”

He’s getting louder, almost annoyed. “Marinette–”

“–Kreisler’s–” But she’s tired, she’s willing to move on, she’s–

“Marinette, would you just let me apologize!”

But Adrien–Adrien doesn’t want to move on, she realizes as she turns around and he looks–just as tired, like a taunt string ready to snap, his usual calmness thrown away the closer he edges towards the piano. 

He takes a deep breath, sucks in all the yellow, all the purple and breathes. Shyly, he puts a hand on the piano and green eyes burn hers. “I’m sorry,” he starts. “For snapping at you yesterday and kinda losing my cool right now.” His hand balls atop the wood. “That wasn’t right and you’re always so–so– _kind_ to everyone and sometimes _weird_  around me?” 

She sucks in a breath and automatically feels her face getting hot. 

She wills red to be her outline. “Look, as I told you yesterday, I really like you and–” she starts to trail, her eyes looking down at her violin. 

_No more Marinette, seconds are going by and no more._

_“–and_  I think you’re cool and I just want you to think I’m cool too, okay?” 

When she glances up, it looks like Adrien has stopped breathing, his face pink and his mouth open because–she somehow boldly told him the truth and–and he’s not running away. 

He covers his face with hands. “Oh.” 

It’s positively adorable the way he opens his fingers to peek at her. “You like _like_ me?” 

Marinette giggles, nervous and relieved and so many things at once because, well she doesn’t know, but because. “Yeah, a bit.”

 _A lot, but who’s measuring_. 

He sits down, his face still covered. “I didn’t get that yesterday,” he admits. “Or ever.” 

And her heart is thumping in her chest, her ears. Her pulse going haywire as she moves to sit next to him on the piano bench. “Yeah…I’m kinda really bad at showing it to _you_ …” She lets out a laugh she’s been holding, “Everyone else knew though.” 

“Oh,” he says softly, his hands no longer on his face, his cheeks still flushed. He bites his lips and says, “I, um, I don’t–”

And that stings, what he is about to say, but Marinette just nods and swallows her heart that wants to break. “I know. That’s okay.” 

The room tilts a bit, awkward even as both teenagers sit at the piano bench, her confession, his rejection hanging between them. But then Adrien stands tall and his back reminds her of someone she can’t just place. He spins quickly on his heel and grabs her by the hand, pulling her up until both are equal where they stand. 

He looks happy, cheeks still bright. “I don’t, you know,” he begins, but his gaze never loses that intensity. “But I do think you’re cool. Impressive, really.” 

Her eyes go wide as she blushes, her cheeks burning. “Oh.” 

Her world is ending, her life in danger, her feelings exposed, but Marinette–Marinette has never felt happier. 

(And she will cling to this, cherish it because for now, _this will have to be enough)_. 

However, her happiness gets put on pause when Adrien sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. 

“I also…um, I also can’t hear piano notes anymore…”

“ _What?”_


	5. life is hardly fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here take this. it's cute.

In a room filled with instruments that only want to be played, his honesty sings in between him and Marinette. 

“Yeah,” Adrien says as he rubs the back of his neck. “I just--some _stuff_   happened...and I don’t hear the piano...which is why--”

“--why you were so upset about this?” Marinette finishes for him. “About playing and everything?”

His smile is awkward and all he has to offer is a nod.

She falls onto the piano bench, looking over her shoulder with disbelief at the piano keys. Adrien has never noticed her profile, the curve of her jaw or the length of her lashes until now. Long fingers tap the keys in disorder, a melody not found in her play. 

She glances up at him, her eyes still unbelieving, blue eyes as deep as the ocean--tugging, tugging, tugging him for answers as her mouth parts with pretty pink lips with her question. “Can you hear that?” 

He laughs despite himself, the type that is still tangled with grief and revulsion wants him to stop from moving forward to touch the keys. Yet he still steps towards the instrument, towards memories that bleed their very existence into his present. 

_The piano wants to love you, my dear. Let it love you the way it wants to._

“I can’t hear when _I_ play--that’s. Well, that’s what I meant.” 

“Oh.” 

His fingers trail the keys, not pressing down, but just feeling the smooth surface of those that are black and white. Time surges forward as the seconds keep the beat of his heart. 

_Let you love me, huh?_

“Kreisler’s what?” 

Marinette looks up, her lips parted in surprise, the pink of them glistening just like the blue in her eyes. Comprehension flashes bright as she grins a small yet eager smile. And like always, she’s racing across the room to rifle through her bag. 

That is--that is just who Marinette is, Adrien notices. Always running, always moving towards something new, raw and unafraid as life swirls around her with all the colors at her fingertips. In essence, she’s brave. Strange and brave. Different and brave.

Living and brave. 

Her arms rush into the air, letting out a shout of glee as she hoists a music book high in the air with accomplishment. Her movements melt away the black, the grey, colors shimmering under white as surprise takes him constantly. 

She rushes back to him too, her steps and path parting his world like Moses and the sea, colors spilling into the trench for a brief moment. It’s--it’s not bad, to say the least. Different, _brave_. 

Her smile warms her whole face as her arms lovingly clutch the music book in front of her. “I’ve always wanted to play Kreisler’s _Love’s Sorrow_  with someone...” 

And there are two things Adrien realizes in this moment as he feels like he’s being torn in two, his breath stilling for a second in his lungs. For there are memories of laying under the piano as his mother played this same song, gentle and sweet notes ringing in the air and lulling him to sleep as she longed for his father to come home when he was far away. There is no escaping love, there is no escaping sorrow when the two are forever intertwined into one thing. 

And two, Marinette is able to read him entirely because he face is falling fast, fast, fast and her happy smile rounds out into a frown. 

“...or how about _Rando Capriccioso?_ That would also be fun.” 

In the back of his mind, he can hear the way the piano would have to keep time, be orderly, be--be--exist, exist, _exist--_

_I want to exist--I think? I want to exist._

So, he swallows thick, swallows memories of childhood and his mother’s perfume let’s the soothing tick of a metronome fill his ear. Because he can hear that, he can be that, he can _do that_. 

He lets out the breath, the shaky way feelings curl around him, and gives a weak smile. “Yes, I would like that one, please.” 

Marinette nods slowly, her gaze gliding down him from head to toe, as it checking for injuries, but she doesn’t press. 

“Okay. _Capriccioso_  it is.” 

And for the first time, that day the world is fully in color as he says:

“ _Capriccioso_ it is.”

Marinette holds her hand up for a high five, looking kind as she says, “I think we’re going to make a good team.” 

He hums with agreement, letting the words warm him as his hand touches hers. 

“I think so too.”

_I think so too, I really do._

The thought carries him to later that evening, where wearing black is okay--blending into the colors he sees as he surveys the glow of the city before him. Ladybug’s soft footfalls crunch the gravel behind him as she stands at his side. 

“Sorry I’m late, kitty kitty,” she says breathlessly, her words tinging more on the side of giddy. 

Looking over at her, he’s pleased to see that she’s as red as always, always, always the pop of color in his imagery that he can count on to be a beacon in his sight. She’s smiling, her cheeks pink, her lips pinker and her smile bright like the full moon. 

“You seem cheerful, My Lady.” 

Ladybug laughs into her hand a little bit, her blue eyes rolling as they peer through black lashes. “I just--I started playing my violin again and it feels good, you know?” 

Chat takes the small confession about her personal life and presses it close to his soul for him to later kiss before he goes to sleep. Using a stray hand, he brushes some of her bangs away and tries to keep his tone light. 

“I didn’t realize you played an instrument.” 

“Mmhmm, it’s been a very long time since I really have and I’m just--happy that I am?” Turning on her heel, the lights from the city give her a shadowy outline, almost as if she’s not real. Perhaps a dream or a memory...

The moment drags between reality and not, holding them hostage as she her words engulf them.

“It makes someone I really love happy,” she says softly, gently. 

Then, she turns her head to look over her shoulder and his heart stops, the sincerity in her words so _loving_  it makes him want to gather every star in the sky so that she can have infinite wishes.

“And I just want her to always be happy.” 

 _And I--I just want you to be happy_. 

He doesn’t say that though, instead gives her a little shove and leaps off the ledge, flies through the air, his laughter echoing in the air as she screams:

“Hey! No fair!” 

There are a lot of things that aren’t fair, Chat realizes the barrel through Paris, but this--right now--this isn’t one of them. 

(Not yet). 


	6. what must come up must come down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which marinette lives life

Adrien recoils in disgust away from the tablet as unorganized notes fill the air. He covers his face with his hands, a grimace carved deep in his expression as he flops back on the ground.

"I sound like crap," he moans through muffled hands.

Marinette giggles from her seat on the piano bench, and bumps her toe on his thigh. "I mean, you sound _way_ better than yesterday."

His hands fall to the side as green eyes looks up at her. "Correction," he says. "I sound like absolute shit."

His gaze is warm though, like the afternoon golden sun that peers through dusty windows. It shines and blazes her sight and Marinette ignores the way it makes her heart speed up. Frantic and quick, as if the metronome ticking, ticks more erratic. 

Pink dances on the edges of her vision as her fingers smooth across black and white keys. "Don't be too hard on yourself, okay?" she offers with a grin.

Adrien rolls his eyes, but smiles wide as he jumps up off the ground. "You're too kind, Marinette."

The room swirls for a moment before she shakes her head. Love presses tightly against her ribcage, red bubbling bright in ways she doesn’t want to share. Scooting over, she pats the empty side on the bench for him to sit.

"Alright, Mr. Agreste. Again!"

He gives her a cheeky smirk. “Mr. Agreste is my _father_.” 

Marinette huffs and mutely gestures to the piano, her eyes shifting back and forth between her friend (her love) and his instrument. Adrien dramatically sighs before sitting tall and straight, his back positioned like a seasoned professional.  

His fingers descend with such conviction that Marinette swears he’s outlined in stunning gold for that brief moment.

* * *

 She plays with the streetlights of Paris as her audience, pretending they are joyous smiles that light her worldview instead of things that keep darkness at bay. Her notes are soft, the way she lazily lets them sing into air without wondering where they'll go. They are like dandelion seeds drifting into the darkness, to plant themselves in fertile dreams.

Baby callouses from on the pads of Marinette's fingers where she holds the strings of her violin and it makes her heart soar with delight because that means she's practicing.

That means she getting better.

That means that she's doing something right in the way Tikki praises her daily now for her playing, the way Adrien smiles when he tries again to get his notes perfect, the way, the way her body and her soul feel lighter in the way notes float high above the world.

It is a dark night in Paris where stars don't exist, but it doesn't matter to Marinette when she creates starlight, silver and bright like her smiles that feel refreshing after weeks of tension that coiled into her muscles, in her grin, into every fiber of her being. Purple doesn't exist, yellow doesn't exist when the world is bathed in comforting, glowing orange.

With one last strum, she lets her violin fall to her side and swallows cool evening air until she feels like she can fly. Resting her knuckles on her the guardrails of her Paris, she catches a glimmer of gold and squints her eyes to see better. Hopping with the moonlight outlining his body, Chat Noir leaps from rooftop to rooftop with invisible wings encompassing the sky.

His bell rings the way his laughter does and fondness seeps warm fondness into her heart. She doesn't know why either, but her hand cups around the side of her mouth and her shout echoes between brick buildings, skipping merrily on a breeze.

Maybe it’s because she adores him: his friendship, his companionship, his constant existence in her life. And today--today has been a good day and the parts that make Ladybug and Marinete are one in the same. One girl who can’t see her life without a silly kitty never there.

"Hey!"

He hears it immediately when he lands across the way, and she can almost hear the thud of his boots hitting the solid surface. He turns around quick, searching and searching until he finds her arms waving high above her head, trying to beckon him over on the world's randomest whims.

His teeth glint white in the darkness a building away and he leaps easily tens of feet above the air to perch on her railing.

"Evening, Princess," he winks. "I see that no cat has got your tongue."

Despite herself, Marinette laughs and shrugs. "Well, I thought I would say hi to my favorite superhero."

It's comical the way he slips onto her terrace and it makes Marinette have to jump back.

"Your--fave--favorite?" 

Music still vibrating in her fingertips, Marinette holds on that feeling of confidence and smiles. "Yeah. You really are."

Chat Noir picks him off and his cheeks are bright pink, his eyes uncharastically casted away from her sight. If she were Ladybug, she would tease him, but she's not. She's Marinette.

And she's happy, lit up with a smile in the way she loves her best friend. Mask or no mask, he’ll always be that. 

He clears his throat. "What brought on the warm hello?"

Marinette hums and lets honesty roll off her tongue. "Life is short, you know? So I just thought--might as well tell you while I had the chance."

Her partner looks at her inquisitively, his brows pinched together with question, but in the distance, a bell tower chimes.

_One ring, two rings, three rings..._

HIs face freezes and grimaces, dragging a hand down his face. "Fuck."

_Four rings, five rings..._

As Ladybug, she knows that look, that look of _oh god, it's curfew and I'm not at home_ and tries to not make fun of him.

"Gotta save the world?"

_Six rings, seven rings..._

He laughs and shakes his head. "Nah, though someone might need to save me..."

_Eight rings, nine rings..._

He barrels off into the night much like before and Marinette feels lighter, feels--

_Ten rings._

Well, the truth is, she feels. 

And that's all that matters.

* * *

 Ladybug---can't feel.

She can't. Not in the way her transformation is wobbly and weak and-- _I have to get up,_ she thinks. _I have to get up!_

But she can't, her legs numb and Paris is in chaos and Chat--Chat is running off somewhere far away and she doesn't see him, doesn't hear him. She’s crouched low in an alleyway, her legs refusing to move as if they were glued to the floor and--

She slams her fist against the wall. "Fuck!" she cries. "Fuck! This...this cannot be happening."

She's only seen red before, only seed black before, green before, but yellow and purple flutter at Ladybug's vision as everything becomes blurry. Panic stops her chest, her throat and the world is becoming wrong as--as---

As she becomes dizzy and releases her transformation against her will. 

Tikki falls immediately to the dirty ground, unable to fly, unable--unable--

With an outstretched hand, Marinette tries to reach for her, but darkness swims into her vision, the sound of feet hitting the pavement behind her, and her name, her name, bright and red as it whispers away.

“ _Ladybug!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY I HAVE UPDATED THIS IN A LONG WHILE.
> 
> And this chapter is all sorts of awful, but I want to finish this story so on I go lol


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